


Breathless

by HaMandCheezIts



Series: Abuse and Aftermath [4]
Category: Back to the Future (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bed Sex, Blow Jobs, Bruises, Choking, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Confusion, Consensual Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Depression, Eating Disorders, Explicit Sexual Content, Face Slapping, Family Drama, Family Issues, Father/Son Incest, Fear, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Lone Pine Timeline (Back to the Future), M/M, Mammett, May/December Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Movie: Back to the Future Part II, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Panic Attacks, Parent/Child Incest, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, References to Depression, Rough Oral Sex, Scars, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28766217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaMandCheezIts/pseuds/HaMandCheezIts
Summary: STORY NOW COMPLETEMarty visits Doc at his garage, with Dave as his escort (per Lorraine's requirements). Dave shirks his escorting duty, giving Marty and Doc some alone time - and adventures ensue.Warning: Explicit (mainly first chapter). Please see tags, and read the Note regarding subject matter.“Take your coat off," Marty told his brother. "We’re staying a while.”“Well. . .  Maybe you are, but I’m not.” Dave stuck his hands in his jacket pockets.  “I did my chauffeur duties, and now I’m gonna go for a walk. Maybe get something to eat at Burger King, chat with my old buddies there, head downtown. . . ” He glanced at his watch. “I think that might take me just about an hour.”Doc and Marty both stared at Dave in silent surprise, and then Marty smiled brilliantly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?" He raised his eyebrows. "I have a feeling Mom didn't give her okay for this."Dave grinned, shrugging. "You guys deserve some time alone together. And what Mom doesn't know can't hurt her, right?"
Relationships: Dave McFly & Marty McFly, Emmett "Doc" Brown/Marty McFly
Series: Abuse and Aftermath [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098932
Comments: 21
Kudos: 12





	1. An Hour in the Garage

**Author's Note:**

> Several days have passed since "Introductory Remarks" (the entry in my "Abuse and Aftermath" series with the most recent events to this one). Marty's not yet back at school, but his hands are recovering well, he's seen Dr. Lang once more, and he's been reunited with Einie. (These events are not specifically mentioned; possibly they will be, in a future fic.)
> 
> This story does fit into the "Abuse and Aftermath" series, but unlike the other stories, this one is explicit (mostly the first chapter). I don't write explicit much, so keep that in mind.
> 
>  **NOTE: I do NOT condone the act that Marty and Doc accidentally engage in (autoerotic asphyxiation).**  
>    
> -ck
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future,_ Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, or any other related characters (except for my original characters).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

**Saturday, November 9th, 1985**

**Hill Valley, California**

**10:04 A.M.**

Dr. Emmett L. Brown opened the side door of his lab/house/garage, and ushered in the McFly brothers. "Good morning, you two," he said, smiling at Marty and his escort.

Dave and Marty were barely over the threshold before Einstein dashed up and leaped at the younger brother. "Hey, Einie," Marty said, dropping to the floor and enveloping the dog in an affectionate hug. The sheepdog wriggled and barked joyfully, licking Marty on the face. "I just saw you the other day, boy," Marty laughed, wiping the dog slime off his cheek.

"I think possibly he was expecting you a few minutes ago," Doc said, a hint of a tease in his voice. "I believe you said you'd be here before ten."

“Yeah, you can blame Marty for that,” Dave answered, bending to pet Einstein. “In between half of my stuff being in his room and half of his in mine, we can hardly find clean clothes most days.”

Doc regarded Marty worriedly. "You're still in David's room? I thought you were back in your own room." 

Marty busied himself with removing his jacket, not meeting Emmett’s eyes. Seeing that his brother was uncomfortable with explaining, Dave replied to the scientist’s question. “He's doing better, just not sleeping in his bed yet. Dr. Lang wants him to take it slow." Then he clapped his brother companionably around the shoulders. "It’s not a problem, Doc Brown. I was just busting his balls.”

Marty snorted. “Nice, Dave.” He ducked out of his brother's arm. “Take your coat off. We’re staying a while.”

“Well. . . Maybe you are, but I’m not.” Dave stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. “I did my chauffeur duties, so now I’m gonna go for a walk. Maybe get something to eat at Burger King, see if any of my old work buddies are there, head downtown. . . ” He glanced at his watch. “I think that might take me just about an hour.”

Doc and Marty both stared at Dave in silent surprise, and then Marty smiled brilliantly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He raised his eyebrows. "I have a feeling Mom didn't give her okay for this."

Dave grinned, shrugging. "You guys deserve some time alone together. And what Mom doesn't know can't hurt her, right?" He nodded toward the parking lot. "That's why I'm going to walk, and leave the car behind. If Mom comes by and sees her car's not parked here, she'll get suspicious." 

"She'd have to drive my truck to get out here, or take the bus," Marty pointed out. "I think both are unlikely."

Dave nodded in agreement. "I'm still gonna walk, though." 

Doc moved forward, letting a warm hand rest on Marty's arm. "Not that we don't appreciate this, David, but I have to wonder why."

Marty looked sidelong at the scientist. "Doc, how about we don't look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?" he said in exasperation.

Dave laughed, then turned serious. "When Marty first told me about you two, I was kind of freaked. I thought maybe Marty's attraction to you was mixed up somehow, because of what my dad did to him, you know? But then I watched you two." He looked directly at Marty. "I saw how much Doc cares about you. How he probably saved your life when you cut your wrists, and how he took care of you better than Mom when you were in the ER for your Valium reaction." He smiled wistfully. "The way you two are together, you just. . . You _fit_. You don't have to work at it. I wish I had that with someone." Dave then shook his head. "I'm amazed I didn't see it before."

"Well, we haven't been together that long. . ." Emmett said.

Dave chuckled again. "Right. And you guys didn't have _any_ feelings for each other until like two months ago? Tell me another." He turned up the collar of his jacket, then headed for the door. "But I can really only give you guys an hour. Mom wants me to check in, and she'll know if I call from somewhere else. Especially when she asks to talk to you, Marty."

Marty pushed his brother toward the door. "Not that I'm rushing you out, but every minute you're here takes away from the hour."

"Goodbye, David - and thank you," Emmett called. The older boy waved as he exited the converted garage. Marty quickly closed the door and locked it, then turned to Doc with a bright grin. "An hour alone, Doc."

The older man grinned back. "What should we do first?"

The first thing was finding something to occupy Einstein. Emmett pulled out a treat-packed chew toy, specially created by Doc for times when he needed Einstein out from underfoot. Einstein promptly took the reward to his dog bed, settling down to gnaw at it. Then the scientist and the teen gazed at each other, and both broke into nervous laughter.

"It's been like two weeks, Doc," Marty said, once he'd gotten his giggles under control. "But I think I remember I owe you." He nodded at the living area. "Couch or bed?"

Emmett decided fairly quickly. "Bed. In my opinion, I would be the only one comfortable on the couch."

Marty headed to the bed, taking the phone off the hook en route. "You're supposed to be comfortable. It's your turn." He kicked off his shoes. 

Emmett glanced at the unhooked phone, thought _What the hell_ , and followed Marty to the bed. "Well, it's not necessary that you be on the floor," he replied, bending to pull the sheets back on the bed.

"I don't mind," Marty said. He reached up and pulled Emmett down for a kiss, interrupting the man's attempt to ready the bed. The teen latched on to the older man, inhaling like Doc's breath was life's blood. Just as it was getting heated, with tangled tongues and roaming hands, the younger man broke the kiss, and pushed Emmett down sideways onto the partially made bed.

Doc had barely oriented himself before Marty was on his knees in front of the man, pulling off Emmett's loafers. "Good job not having laces, Doc," he murmured. He stripped off the man's socks, and then fairly attacked the fly of Doc's pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. He was pulling the pants down seconds later. 

"Marty, slower," Emmett said, flustered by the teen's speed and fervor.

"An _hour,_ Doc," Marty answered, although he decided to leave Doc's underwear in place. Momentarily. 

"More like fifty-two minutes, _now_ ," Emmett corrected, his voice hitching on the last word as Marty pressed his hand wonderfully against his groin.

"So shut up, and just enjoy this," Marty said, continuing to palm Doc through his boxers, gratified by the man's immediate reaction. He slid his hand over the thin material, occasionally squeezing, nimbly tracing the form of Doc's growing erection with his fingers. 

"I said I didn't want you on the floor. . ." 

Marty sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Lie down." He waited until Emmett had done as directed, and then the teen crawled up, straddling the man. Marty grasped the elastic of Emmett's boxers, and pulled them down slowly, teasingly, fully releasing the man's ready cock. The boxers were tossed on the floor near Doc's other clothing.

"My hands are working a lot better now, Doc," Marty said softly. He ran said hands slowly up and down the insides of Emmett's bare thighs, tickling and rubbing, and then gave the man's testicles a light squeeze. "How is that? Good?" 

"Outstanding," Emmett moaned in admiration. "Marty, you are a wonder." 

"Hey, I haven't done anything yet." Marty shifted his posture, but then swore quietly. His jeans had become uncomfortably tight. He couldn't help it - knowing he could get Doc off made him _hot_. "Hang on, Doc." Marty requested. He straightened a bit, then quickly undid his jeans, pushing them and his underwear down to his ankles. He kicked off both pieces of clothing; as an afterthought, he also removed his shirt. When the now naked teen leaned over Doc again, the scientist felt Marty's freed erection rubbing against his leg. "Ah, I see." Doc said, smiling indulgently. "I can take care of that." 

Marty shook his head; he was again running his hands along Doc's legs. "Not yet. Let me do this for you." 

"Marty, you don't - oh, _God_." Marty's right hand was now gripping Emmett's cock, sliding along the shaft from scrotum to tip, stroking expertly. He swiped his thumb over the pre-cum at the swollen head and spread it over his fingers and palm, so his hand could move without restraint. " _Jesus,_ " Emmett whispered, shivering in delight. 

"Language, Doc," Marty said softly, and then he wasn't able to say any more, as he had bent forward and taken the head of Doc's penis into his mouth. 

The sudden act, with little warning, caused Emmett to thrust his hips upward. Marty adjusted, pulling off to avoid gagging, and then went back to his job. He again placed his mouth over the head of Emmett's cock, fitting his lips firmly and sucking at more pre-cum. He pulled back, poked at the slit with his tongue, and licked hungrily along the shaft. His saliva quickly coated Emmett's cock, and soon Marty was easily sliding the scientist's slick penis in and out of his mouth, bobbing his head rhythmically. Sucking, swirling his tongue, closing his eyes and humming deep in his throat as he worked. Doc groaned low and long, bringing his hands down to grasp at Marty. He threaded unsteady fingers through the teen's thick hair, and massaged the nape of Marty's neck.

Marty had a wealth of experience when it came to blow jobs; unfortunately, a good amount of that was due to his father's sexual abuse. But because of that knowledge, he knew how best to pleasure his partner without becoming overwhelmed himself. He knew how to take measured breaths at the beginning, when he was doing preparatory licks or early suckles. He was a pro at breathing through his nose when his mouth was full.

Like now.

When Marty went further, bringing Doc fully into his mouth (and frankly, his throat), the older man gasped in bliss, and his hands tightened around Marty's neck, squeezing involuntarily. Emmett pulled the boy against him forcefully, holding him in place, as his hips bucked and his cock throbbed. For an infinitesimal amount of time, a nanosecond maybe, time seemed to stop, cease, mean nothing. The only thing Emmett was aware of was ecstasy, and Marty. The teen who was pleasuring him in a way that Emmett couldn't believe and didn't deserve. And didn't want to end. 

Then time started moving again. With a joyous cry of release, Doc shuddered against Marty and ejaculated deep into the boy's throat. If Marty wanted to pull away he was unable, as Emmett was still holding him tightly against his body, his hands clenched around Marty's neck. The older man jerked and twitched, filling the teen's mouth with his seed. Marty swallowed convulsively, but some of Doc's spunk leaked from his mouth, as the pressure on his throat made it difficult to swallow it all. He tried to breathe through his nose, but he was pressed too hard against Doc, the man's hands clutching his neck tighter with each shiver of his climax. Marty's eyes bulged as he fought to take a breath.

As Marty's throat cramped and his lungs screamed for oxygen, a fire burst through his veins, spreading to his fingertips and toes and to each strand of his hair. He felt an unholy jolt in his cock, like it had grown to an incredible size and had become increasingly sensitive and hard. 

Sparks shot dizzily across Marty’s fading vision, and a random memory popped into his head, from two years ago. Sitting alone in the car with George, waiting for Lorraine, who had run into the 7-Eleven to get a gallon of milk.

_“You’ve been seeing a lot of Jennifer,” George said. Marty was worried that his father would follow the statement up with a jealous comment (which he had done several times since Marty and Jennifer had started dating regularly). But instead, George repeated, “A **lot** of Jennifer,” and his tone was suggestive. _

_Marty’s hands went automatically to his neck. He and Jennifer had gone on a movie date the other night, and some serious necking had occurred. Jennifer had appeased her parents by saying her most noticeable hickey mark was a curling iron burn. Marty hadn’t had an easy lie for his marks; his mother had sighed resignedly, and his father had looked annoyed. But surprisingly, George hadn’t said much. Until now, it seemed._

_"I like Jenn,” Marty said nervously. " **Mom** likes Jenn.” _

_"Oh, she’s sweet,” George said, but it was obvious from his mocking tone that he didn’t mean it. “I didn’t know sweet girls like her were into autoerotic asphyxiation.”_

_"What?” Marty asked, offended and curious at the same time. “What’s auto- autoero- “_

_"Autoerotic asphyxiation,” George repeated. “Choking yourself, or your partner, to increase sexual gratification.” He defined the act casually, and with the concise, easy phrasing of a writer. “Aren’t those the marks on your neck? From Jennifer choking you?”_

_Marty reddened. “God, Dad, no! Not – no!” the fifteen-year-old stammered. “She wouldn’t – I didn’t even know what that was!”_

_George reached a hand back from the driver’s seat and squeezed Marty’s knee. “I can show you.”_

But for some reason or another – possibly uneasiness, possibly fear – George had never attempted, or even again mentioned, autoerotic asphyxiation with his son. And Marty himself had never had any interest in the act. He’d thought it was it was a lot of risk for questionable gain.

Then Doc finally released his hold on Marty’s neck, allowing the teen lift his head and pull off. As Marty sucked the first gulp of air into his lungs, his lightheadedness vanished, replaced by a instant rush of adrenaline and endorphins and euphoria. And then Marty had maybe the most intense orgasm he'd ever had.

It was like his body exploded into a million shiny pieces. Then they came flying back together, slamming into his consciousness with each wave of his orgasm. He was gibbering and crying, vaguely aware that his cock was pulsing and spurting all over Doc. Vaguely aware that the man was calling his name. As the largest waves receded, Marty gasped out for Doc, scrabbling blindly at the scientist. He then fairly collapsed against the man. “Oh God oh my God oh Doc,” he blurted, burying his head in Emmett’s neck. “Oh fuck. Oh God, _fuck!"_

Doc cradled Marty's head. “Marty. Marty, are you all right? What did I do? What did I do to you?” He tried to embrace the teen, but Marty started floundering. "Oh, my lord, what did I _do?”_

Repetitive aftershocks began hitting Marty’s body, both exciting and draining him. He could only shake his head, still unable to articulate much more than one or two-word utterances. He lay against Doc, trembling and crying. “Marty, _please!”_ Emmett pleaded.

Instead of answering, Marty pressed a hot kiss to Emmett’s neck, and then his jaw, and then his mouth. Taking solace in the deed, Emmett kissed back, then directed Marty’s head back to the crook of his neck. “Rest, Marty. Take some time to recover.”

It was close to five minutes before Marty’s shuddering ceased, and his frantic breathing slowed. Emmett held him while he came down, occasionally offering an apology or asking about the teen’s welfare. When Marty felt he could survive on his own without being tethered to Doc, he rolled off of Emmett and flopped beside him.

Doc watched anxiously as the younger man turned toward him, opening his impossibly blue eyes. Marty sighed tiredly, then smiled.

“That was – I can’t even – I didn’t know,” Marty said, his voice weak. “I didn’t know how that would feel.”

Emmett reached out to push Marty's sweaty bangs aside, then wiped away a few remaining tears. "That cannot happen again. I will not participate in that kind of act."

"Wait, Doc. . ." Marty protested, confused and defensive, "that was you. I didn't ask for that. I thought you - "

"No, Marty." Emmett said vehemently. "That was a terribly unfortunate mistake. I didn't know you couldn't breathe, that I was holding you that tightly." He looked away, shaking his head with a tight smile. "I believe my reaction was a result of our time apart, and of your. . . amazing skills. I was overcome, and you bore the brunt of my carelessness." Directing his gaze back to Marty, he brought a tentative hand to Marty's throat. Faint indentations, now turning red, indicated where Doc had squeezed. The noticeable marks frightened the scientist. _They'll fade,_ Emmett reassured himself.

Marty lifted a hand, placing it over Doc's and holding it there. "I'm okay, Doc. I'm better than okay. I've never felt an orgasm like that before. It was like I came undone, dissolved, or something. Almost like when I started to fade away in '55, but it didn't hurt. It was. . ." He fell back, staring up at the ceiling. "God, I can't put it into words," he said simply, a smile of wonder on his face.

"I know," Doc said quietly, "I saw you." Watching Marty at the height of his extraordinary climax had both thrilled and alarmed the scientist. The way the younger man had been so out of his mind with overwhelming pleasure that he'd barely reacted to his own ejaculation. Marty didn't exactly have a hair trigger (Emmett thought the teen's ability to last longer might be due to "practice" with George), but he could orgasm quickly with minor input from Emmett: an efficient hand job, a few minutes of earnest sucking, even just grinding their naked bodies together. But on those occasions, Marty had always been aware of his climax, and was very considerate about the direction of his spurts - which Emmett now thought was probably also related to George's abuse. He had originally assumed Marty was worried about making some kind of neophyte error, not knowing the "rules" when it came to cumming with a new partner, who just happened to be a guy. Or that maybe Marty and Jennifer had had a bad experience, and he hadn't wanted to repeat it. 

Whatever the reason, Marty as of yet had never ejaculated without assistance, at least not with Emmett. And he'd never nearly fainted during an orgasm – no matter that it had been from the extreme pleasure.

Marty rolled back to face Doc. "Then you know. You know what it did to me." He took a deep breath, letting it out shakily. "Fuck, Doc, I'm still not all together." He grasped Emmett's hand and pressed it to his naked chest. "Feel my heart. It's still pounding."

Emmett could indeed feel the fast beating under his hand. He felt something else too. Doc let his hands roam over the teen’s chest, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "Marty, have you lost weight recently? I can feel your ribs. I don't remember them being so prominent before."

Marty sat up, untangling the soiled sheets from underneath them and attempting to wrap one around his shoulders. "Great way to change the subject, Doc."

Doc inched his tall frame up as well, pushing up on his elbows. "There's no subject to change," he said firmly. "Your reduction of oxygen was a mistake, it will not happen again with me, and you are _not_ to attempt it on your own." He abstractedly cleaned himself with a sheet that Marty had loosened, then let it fall to cover his exposed lower half. "Now back to your weight. How much have you lost the past two weeks? You were thin before, but this is . . . concerning."

Marty sighed, closing his eyes briefly. He'd been annoyed before that Doc hadn’t noticed his weight loss, even as he’d been annoyed that his mother _had._ Lorraine had mentioned it as far back as when she’d picked him up at Bedford, and that had been over a week - and five pounds - ago.

"I don't know, Doc. They weighed me that first night at Bedford, and I was 117 pounds. Dr. Lang weighed me on Wednesday. . . I was 112. But different scales weigh differently, you know."

“112,” Emmett repeated slowly. “Marty, that’s much too thin. Even for your frame and height. Even 117 is low.” He looked closer at the teen. “I didn't think you were so slim - I don’t recall you being so when we first met.”

“Well, I was younger. I still had baby fat.” 

“Yes, I suppose,” Emmett allowed, thinking back to how the boy had appeared in his youth. "But I still think you're underweight now. And obviously your psychiatrist noticed as well, if he took the time to weigh you.”

“He said my weight would decide what dose of medication to prescribe, but we haven't even talked that much about meds. . .“ Marty trailed off, then looked curiously at Doc. “Was he lying, you think? I mean, about why he wanted to weigh me?” His expression darkened. “I bet he and Mom planned it together. Mom has been bugging me about my weight.”

“With good reason, Marty.” Emmett’s face was serious. “Have you not been eating sufficiently? Is it related to your father’s abuse? I know Dr. Vincent was focused on your anxiety, but did he ever mention depression? Or has Dr. Lang?”

Marty puffed out an exhale. “God, Doc, do we have to talk about this? _Now_?” He gestured at his lower extremities, and then waved in the same direction on Emmett’s body. “I’d like to get a shower. Before Dave gets back.” He grabbed Doc’s wrist, peering at one of the man's wristwatches. “How much time do we have?”

Emmett was about to reply when there was the noise of a key turning in the lock on the door. For a moment the scientist and the teen stared at each other in dismay. Both of their naked bodies (partially for Doc, everything off but his socks for Marty) were somewhat covered by the wrinkled sheets, but their clothes were scattered around the bed, and then there was just the fact that they were _in_ bed together. Even though Dave had basically understood what they would be doing, there was a vulnerability and a humiliation to being found undressed, post-fellatio.

But there was nothing to be done. The door was opening. Einstein jumped up from his dog bed, barking happily as he ran forward to greet the visitor.

“Down, Einstein, down, boy,” Lorraine McFly said, and Marty’s sudden terror was so complete he thought he might throw up.

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **


	2. They Call Him The Freak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lorraine discovers Doc and Marty in bed, she's livid - and Marty is the main recipient of her anger.
> 
> _Marty stepped out of the garage – and saw his mother waiting right outside the door, standing with her arms crossed and an incredibly angry scowl on her face._
> 
> _“Hi, Mom,” Marty muttered, looking at the ground._
> 
> _“Look at me, Martin!” she demanded._
> 
> _Marty whipped his head up, startled by the use of his given name. Lorraine glared at him coldly. “Is he decent?” she asked._
> 
> _Marty stared, speechless. **Did she just ask me if he’s a decent lover?**_
> 
> _“Marty!” Lorraine said sharply. “Is he dressed?”_
> 
> _“Oh!” Marty felt his face flush in embarrassment. “Oh, yeah! Yes, he’s dressed.”_
> 
> _“Good. We need to talk.” Lorraine walked past her son and back to the garage door, throwing it open and marching inside. Marty rushed behind her, suddenly fearful for Emmett. “Doc!” he yelled. “Doc, we’re back!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't exactly explicit - it does reference the events of the first chapter, but that's about as far as it goes.
> 
> Standard disclaimer applies (see first chapter). 
> 
> -ck

**Saturday, November 9th, 1985**

**Hill Valley, California**

**10:48 A.M.**

Lorraine had been bending over to pet Einstein, but as soon as she straightened, her gaze zeroed in on the two individuals present in the garage apartment. The woman's face paled, and her eyes widened in shock.

As for Marty and Doc, both men were struck dumb. Marty, in a true sitting position, was partially blocking the semi-upright and semi-nude Emmett. But, even when loosely draped in a sheet, it was obvious that Marty was unclothed. He attempted to draw the sheet around him closer, but all that did was accentuate the fact that he was hiding his nakedness.

Lorraine had become rigid. She couldn’t take her eyes off the two people in the bed. She blinked, swallowed, and then said, “I tried to call.”

Marty eyed the phone, which he had taken off the hook maybe twenty minutes ago, maybe forty – he’d been impatient to get things going with Doc, but he’d taken his time pleasing the man. And he had no idea how long he’d been gripped in the fierce power of his own orgasm. . .

“I’m afraid it’s off the hook,” Emmett said, his voice measured and very un-Doc like.

“I see.” Lorraine blinked again, and her face changed. Instead of shock, it now held a look of fury. She centered her gaze on her son, and sent the fury directly at him.

“Get dressed,” she hissed. And then she turned abruptly and left the garage.

Marty let out a breath of air he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. Then he looked over at Doc.

“I think a shower is off the table,” the scientist said.

Marty gathered his clothes and shoes and carried them to the bathroom, where he did the best he could to clean himself up with a washcloth. Hurriedly dressing, he did little more than glance in the mirror – until he noticed the discolorations on his neck. There were faint red marks below his ears, presumably from Doc’s fingers, and mild bruises on his throat, most likely from the man’s thumbs. Marty lifted his hands and placed them on his neck, imagining the position Emmett’s hands had held. He squeezed gently, then gradually tightened his grasp until his throat began to ache. Marty's stomach twisted fearfully, and he dropped his hands. Then he bent over the toilet and threw up his breakfast.

“Marty?” There was a knocking at the door. “Are you all right?” Emmett cracked the door open. “Did you just get sick?” _No wonder he's losing weight - when he does eat, he can't keep anything down._

Marty looked up from where he was now sitting on the toilet. “Doc, what are we going to do?”

Emmett entered the bathroom; he was dressed as well, but he looked nearly as wrecked as Marty felt. “I don’t know,” the older man admitted. He knelt down, taking Marty's hands in his own. Bringing the teen's wrists to his lips, he kissed the mostly-healed scars. “But we’re in this together.”

Marty’s shirt did little to cover the evidence from his accidental choking, but his jacket collar, especially when lifted up, helped to distract from the finger and thumbprints. Giving Einstein a few pats and pushing him away from the door, Marty stepped out of the garage – and saw his mother waiting right outside the door, standing with her arms crossed and an incredibly angry scowl on her face.

“Hi, Mom,” Marty muttered, looking at the ground.

“Look at me, Martin!” she demanded.

Marty whipped his head up, startled by the use of his given name. Lorraine glared at him coldly. “Is he decent?” she asked.

Marty stared, speechless. _Did she just ask me if he’s a decent lover?_

“Marty!” Lorraine said sharply. “Is he dressed?”

“Oh!” Marty felt his face flush in embarrassment. “Oh, yeah! Yes, he’s dressed.”

“Good. We need to talk.” Lorraine walked past her son and back to the garage door, throwing it open and marching inside. Marty rushed behind her, suddenly fearful for Emmett. “Doc!” he yelled. “Doc, we’re back!”

The older man came from the area of the bathroom, looking a little more put together. He studied Lorraine and Marty quietly, then gestured to the kitchen table. “We should sit down,” he advised.

The three sat at the table. Lorraine specifically seated herself between Emmett and Marty; she faced the scientist with the same cold glare she had recently set upon Marty.

“Would you care to explain what I just saw?” she asked.

Doc and Marty traded looks. “Uh . . . “ Marty started.

Lorraine whirled. “I am asking _him_ , Marty!”

Marty shook his head, suddenly angry. “No, Mom! What, you think this was all him? That I didn’t have anything to do with it? There were two of us in that bed, you know!”

“Marty. . . “ Doc warned.

“No!” Marty yelled again, turning to Doc. “You didn’t force me to do anything, I didn’t do anything I didn’t _want_ to do.” He rounded on Lorraine. “Christ, Mom, you knew that! You knew we had a physical relationship, Doc told you! What did you think that meant?” He threw his hands out inquisitively. "You want to know what you saw, what was going on? I’d just given Doc one hell of a blow job!”

Lorraine's mouth dropped open. Stunned into motionless silence, she gaped at her defiant son. Emmett coughed, covering his mouth in an attempt to hide a grin

The side door opened then, and Dave entered the converted garage. He looked at the three people sitting in tense silence at the table, and groaned softly. “I was wondering why Marty’s truck was here.”

Lorraine broke out of her paralysis, and stood to face her oldest son. Even though the young man was taller than her, he instantly backed down, knowing he was in deep shit. “Mom. Fancy seeing you here,” he said in an awkward attempt at humor.

“Fancy _not_ seeing you here,” she returned.

Dave winced. “I wasn’t gone that long,” he defended himself. “And I came back! You didn’t have to drive out here to check up on us.”

“Apparently I did,” Lorraine said archly. “But that’s not why I came out here. Your office phoned looking for you, there is some crisis with an overseas client, and they were hoping you could come in and help. I would have just called and told you, if the phone hadn’t been off the hook.” She sent a hard look at Emmett, then turned back to David. “Although I guess it wouldn’t have mattered, since you _weren’t_ _here,_ ” she poked at Dave’s chest, “even though I expressly told you to stay with Marty.”

“Mom, he’s not a baby,” Dave protested. “He’s seventeen – “

“Exactly!” Lorraine said. “Seventeen! He’s still a minor! I walked in here, and found them in – in bed, doing – “ her voice cracked, and she broke off, not wanting to picture what Marty had told her. “And if I could just walk in on them, anyone could!”

“I think that’s exaggerating a little,” Marty mumbled.

“Why?” Lorraine again focused her ire on her younger son. “Anyone who knows where the spare key is could just let themselves in, like I did. And with Emmett’s reputation in town, can you tell me that no one would try to come in here, to damage something, or to do something to hurt him, or you – “

“Like Dad?” Marty had risen, and he stepped toward his mother. “Like Dad did, letting himself in to destroy something and then finding me alone?” He waved around the interior of the garage. “Dad tried to fucking rape me here, and Doc saved me. Instead of worrying about someone walking in on me and Doc, maybe you should have been worrying about what your husband was doing to me!”

Lorraine slapped Marty across the face.

Three things happened then in rapid succession. Marty, stunned by the sudden, brutal strike, stumbled backwards and fell hard on his rear. Dave jumped forward, setting a hand on Lorraine's arm and gently restraining her. And Emmett went straight to Marty. Bending down to assist the teen, he placed an arm around Marty’s waist, hoisting him up and then slowly easing him into a chair. “Are you all right?” he asked softly, grasping Marty’s chin lightly and turning his head to look at the red handprint.

Marty was grimacing and squinting his left eye, which was watering. “Shit, that hurt.” He looked bleakly at his mother. “Nice right cross, Ma.”

Lorraine reached her arms out in anguish. “Oh, baby, I’m _so_ sorry!”

Emmett placed himself between Lorraine and Marty. “I think you need to back away, Lorraine.”

Lorraine looked incredulously at the scientist. "Back away?" she repeated, as if she had heard him wrong.

"Yes." Emmett was unmoving. "Marty was abused by his father for three years. He doesn't need to be afraid of another parent." 

Lorraine blanched; she looked around Doc to where her son was sitting, his hands now covering his face. "Marty. Marty, I didn't mean to scare you. Honey, _please_." 

Marty dropped his head down, resting it on pillowed arms. "Just go home, Mom," he said. Although his voice was muffled, the crack of a sob was obvious. Einstein, who had been cowering several feet away due to all the yelling, recognized his younger master's distress. The sheepdog crept over to Marty and laid his head on the teen's knee, whining softly.

Lorraine shook her head, twisting her hands together. "Marty, you have to come home, too - "

Her son abruptly lifted his head; Lorraine was dismayed by the hopeless expression, as well as by the startling red mark on his left cheek where she had struck him. "Then leave my truck for me," Marty answered. "I'll come home later."

Lorraine was still rooted to the spot. "Marty, I don't think - "

"Go home, Mom!" Marty shouted, then crumpled in on himself, his shoulders shaking. 

Dave grasped Lorraine's arm, pulling her back. "Let's go, Mom," he prodded gently. "Leave the truck keys. We'll take the car. I'll drop you off at home before I head to work."

Lorraine began to fumble in her coat pocket, but Doc stepped forward and stayed her hand. "Take both vehicles. I'll bring Marty home when he's ready. I don't think he should be driving."

Lorraine nodded dumbly, gazing at her distraught son. Dave pulled at her arm again. "Mom. Let's _go_." 

The two slowly left the garage, Dave pushing Lorraine ahead of him. Before Dave pulled the door shut, he glanced back at Emmett. "Take care of him, Doc," he said quietly, then closed the door.

When Doc moved back over to the teen, Marty was still curled around himself, one hand snaked out to grip at Einstein. Emmett crouched by Marty's chair, waiting for the younger man to acknowledge him. Einstein whined again, and Doc murmured to him reassuringly.

"Marty." Emmett reached out and stroked Marty's hair. “Look at me. Please.”

Marty looked up, sniffling. “They gone?”

Emmett turned his head toward the doorway and the parking area near his garage. He knew someone - most likely Dave - had taken Marty's truck; the engine was fairly recognizable when it started up. He hadn’t heard if Lorraine’s car had left, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving Marty to go and look. “Yes, they’ve left,” he said.

Marty nodded jerkily, then breathed a shaky sigh. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Doc sighed as well. “Marty, your moth – “

“Not even you,” Marty continued, barely registering that the scientist had spoken. Emmett paused, then peered carefully at the teen. “What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

Marty shook his head, breathing unevenly. “First, you wanted me to stay away, and today, today when we – “ he took a deep breath. “I liked it, but I shouldn’t have. It was wrong. Just like everything my dad did to me. He could make me – make me orgasm, and that – “ He took several more breaths, and Emmett watched closely, worried the teen might hyperventilate.

Marty continued. “You told me that I wasn’t a freak - that my body responded to my dad's . . . assaults because of my age and my hormones. That it was just a physical reaction, and not pleasure or anything. But what happened today, when you choked me – I _know_ it wasn’t on purpose, Doc – I had the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Doing something wrong. I _am_ a freak.” He again put his face in his hands. “My dad screwed me up. I’ll never be normal again.”

Doc gripped Marty’s shoulders. “That’s not true, Marty. You’ll get past this – “ 

“You don’t know!” Marty yelled, knocking Doc’s hands away. “You don’t know what it feels like to be me, to be scared all the time, to know that I can’t _fix_ anything!” He stared off into space, his eyes unfocused. “Maybe I shouldn't even try.”

Emmett felt his blood run cold. He grabbed at Marty again, this time cupping his face in his hands and staring into his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

Marty jerked his eyes away, trying to pull out of Emmett’s grasp. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” Doc stressed. He dropped his hands from Marty’s face, but placed them again on the teen’s shoulders. “Talk to me, Marty. What are you saying?”

Marty directed his eyes to the floor. “I – I feel – I feel like I did when I slit my wrists. And it really scares me.”

Doc leaned back on his haunches, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, his expression was decisive and resolute.

“You need to call your psychiatrist.”

Marty lifted his gaze. “What?”

“I think you should call Dr. Lang,” Emmett clarified. “Do you have his number?”

“Y-yeah. He gave me his card.” Marty frowned. “But it’s Saturday.”

Doc smiled. “What, do you think people only have problems Monday through Friday?”

“Well, no, I guess not. . . But I’ve only seen him twice. And the first time was with my mom, so we didn’t actually talk about . . . stuff. That one was more like an interview type thing.”

Emmett’s face remained determined. “Where’s his card?”

Marty reached for his wallet, grimacing slightly. “Damn. My ass hurts from when I fell.” He pulled out his wallet, then dug out the white card, which had been tucked alongside his driver’s license. He remembered receiving the card from Lang on his first visit with his mother, and how Lorraine had watched him fight to put the card in the slot, as his fingers had still been somewhat weak when it came to fine motor movements. He now set the business card on the table, and stared at it like it was a snake that might bite him.

Doc left the table briefly to grab the phone, dragging its cord across the kitchen as he brought it to the table. He placed the black rotary telephone in front of Marty, then sat down next to the teen.

Marty looked at the phone but didn’t move to pick up the receiver. “Marty,” Emmett said softly.

The teen looked up. “Huh?”

Doc tapped the phone, and lifted his eyebrows.

“Right.” Marty took a deep breath and reached for the phone. But his hands had started shaking so hard he could barely grip the receiver, and he knew he’d never be able to dial the number. He tucked his hands into his armpits, trying to still them. “I can’t, Doc. My hands – Can you dial for me?”

With a soft sound of affirmation, Emmett slid the card nearer so he could read it, then picked up the receiver and started to dial. Marty watched the rotary dial return after every number, feeling his heartbeat increase with each click. When Emmett had completed dialing, he handed the receiver to Marty. The younger man took it in both hands and pressed it against his ear.

_“Parry Medical Clinic, can I help you?”_

Marty didn’t answer, unsure if Doc had dialed the right number. Then he remembered that Lang wasn't the only doctor at the clinic; he was probably speaking to the receptionist, the one who'd greeted him and Lorraine on their arrivals to see Dr. Lang.

_“Hello? Can I help you?”_

“Yeah. Uh, I’m, uh, I’m calling to talk to Dr. Lang. I’m, uh, a patient of his.”

The woman’s professional demeanor changed. _“What’s your name, hon?”_

“Uh, Marty. Marty McFly. I’m a new patient. He’s only seen me twice. . . “

_“Marty, it might take me a few minutes to get a hold of Dr. Lang. I need you to hold on the line. Can you do that?”_

Marty swallowed. “Um, I guess.”

The woman’s manner changed again, becoming less personal and more firm. _“Marty, I need to know where you’re calling from. In case we get disconnected while we’re on hold. Are you at home?”_

Marty didn’t immediately answer. He looked sidelong at Doc.

_“Marty? Did you hear me? I need to know what number you’re calling from.”_

“Yeah. I heard. No, I’m not at home. I’m at a friend’s place. I’m using his phone.”

_“Is your friend there? Can I speak to him, Marty?”_

Marty held the receiver out to Doc. “The receptionist wants to talk to you.”

Emmett slowly took the phone. “Yes?”

Marty sat quietly as Doc answered a few questions, identifying himself and dictating his phone number to the receptionist. He then handed the receiver back to Marty. “She said it should only be a few minutes.”

Marty nodded. “Yeah.” He again pressed the receiver to his ear, listened to the cheesy Muzak, and closed his eyes.

After about a minute, a buzz and a click interrupted the instrumental version of Lionel Richie’s “All Night Long,” and Hugh Lang’s calming voice came across the line. _“Marty? Are you there?”_

“Yeah, I’m here.”

_“What is going on right now? How can I help you?”_

Marty glanced at Doc again. “Uh, I’m with a friend, and he thought I should call you.”

_“Why is that Marty? What is wrong?”_

The teen took a deep breath, rapidly blinking his eyes. “I – I’m feeling . . . kinda . . . “ He inhaled again. “I just feel out of . . . control, I guess.”

_“Marty, do you feel like you might hurt yourself?”_

Marty let out a half-sob. “Yeah,” he gasped.

 _“Marty, I need you to come in and see me.”_ Hugh’s voice had suddenly become very serious. _“Right now. The receptionist said you were at your friend’s house, is that correct?”_

“What? Oh, yeah. Doc’s here.”

There was a pause, then Lang asked, _“Dr. Brown? Is that who you’re with?”_

“Yeah, that’s right.”

_“Is it possible for him to bring you here? I don’t want you to drive, Marty.”_

Marty lowered the receiver and looked at Doc, who was watching him attentively. “Uh, Dr. Lang wants to know if you can give me a ride to – “

“Of course I will, Marty,” Emmett answered immediately.

Marty smiled faintly, then lifted the receiver and relayed the information. The conversation ended soon after that, and Marty gently put the phone receiver back on the base. Then he looked up at Doc with watery eyes in a pale face.

“I guess we should go, huh?”

_**TO BE CONTINUED. . .** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(Second Chapter Notes)**
> 
> This chapter's title is a reference to a lyric in the song "The Streak," by Ray Stevens (1974). The original lyric is: "Oh yes, they call him The Streak."


	3. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmett drives Marty to the medical clinic, so the teen can meet with Dr. Lang. Marty's not exactly in a rush to visit his psychiatrist.  
>  __  
> Emmett breathed out a long exhale. “Marty, I’ve apologized, I’m not sure what else – “ He abruptly broke off, then narrowed his eyes at the teenager. “You’re procrastinating,” he said. “You’re trying to draw me into an argument so you can avoid going in.” He gestured at the medical center.
> 
> _For a moment Marty glared in Emmett’s direction, and then his face fell, and his shoulders drooped. He sighed shakily._
> 
> _“I don’t want to see him. To see how disappointed he’ll be. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I should be better!”_
> 
> _Doc was again flustered. “Better? ‘Better’ how?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me a while to write this (short) chapter, as I'm working full time now. Also, I have to get up early, so I'm bushed when I get home. I do have a partial chapter written of Marty's first day back at school, but I'm not sure when I'll post that. I need to finish this one first. 
> 
> -ck
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future_ , Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, or any other related characters (except for my original characters).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.

**Saturday, November 9th, 1985**

**Hill Valley, California**

**11:21 A.M.**

Marty barely spoke on the drive to the Parry Clinic; for the bulk of the short trip, he sat quietly in the passenger seat, alternating between rubbing his wrists and gingerly massaging his neck. Emmett glanced at him several times while driving, but he didn’t force the silent teen into any discussion . . . until they arrived at the medical center. When Marty didn’t make any attempt to leave the van, instead just staring out the window, Emmett softly called the teen’s name.

“Marty? We’re here.”

Marty turned his head sharply. “How? How did you know where to go? You drove straight here.”

Doc shook his head with a confused frown. “Wha- How? I saw the address on the card. The one that had the clinic’s number on it.” When Marty still looked dissatisfied, Emmett attempted a smile. “Marty, Hill Valley is not that big. It wasn’t hard to find.”

Marty turned back to the window, glowering. “It just seemed too easy. You knew right where to go. Like you’d been here before.”

“That’s not true.” When Marty didn’t respond, still glaring out his window, Doc reached over and grasped the teen's shoulder. “Marty. What are you inferring? Do you think I have some plan or conspiracy with your mother?” He scoffed lightly. “Not only is that ridiculous, but I’m not exactly your mother’s biggest fan right now.” He moved his hand to Marty’s face, and softly touched the reddened cheek. “I should’ve had you ice that – you still have a mark.”

Marty lifted his hand to cover Doc’s. “What about my neck? Do I still have marks there? It still hurts.”

Doc extended his other hand, parting the collar of Marty’s jacket. He sighed unhappily, his expression a combination of regret and anger. “They have faded some, but yes, you have bruises on your throat.” He sat back, sighing again. “I’m truly sorry, Marty.”

The younger man shrugged off the apology. “Are they really obvious? Will Dr. Lang notice them?”

Emmett studied the bruises thoughtfully. “It depends on how much he pays attention.” He brought his hand back to Marty’s collar, making sure it was turned up and partially closed. “Keep your jacket on and your collar up. It’s somewhat cool today – hopefully he won’t be suspicious of you wanting to wear your jacket indoors.”

Marty smiled wanly. “I was planning on keeping it on anyway. I’m tired of people commenting on how much weight I’ve lost.”

Emmett huffed softly. “Only because it’s concerning, Marty.”

Marty shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “So concerning you didn’t bother to notice it until _after_ you got sucked off.”

For a moment Doc gaped at Marty, and then he drew back, blinking. “That’s not – I didn’t –“ he sputtered, obviously embarrassed. After a brief silence, he said, “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have noticed before today. The fact that you’ve been basically this slim since we became intimate isn’t relevant. I’d seen you in shorts or without your shirt on long before I saw you with nothing on, and I’d never considered you underweight back then.”

Marty shrugged again, although he looked unappeased. “My mom noticed when she came to get me at Bedford, and I was fully dressed then.”

Emmett breathed out a long exhale. “Marty, I’ve apologized, I’m not sure what else – “ He abruptly broke off, then narrowed his eyes at the teenager. “You’re procrastinating,” he said. “You’re trying to draw me into an argument so you can avoid going in.” He gestured at the medical center.

For a moment Marty glared in Emmett’s direction, and then his face fell, and his shoulders drooped. He sighed shakily.

“I don’t want to see him. To see how disappointed he’ll be. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. I should be better!”

Doc was again flustered. “Better? ‘Better’ how?”

Marty threw his hands out in agitation. “I was at Bedford for three days, and talked to Vincent every day. I went to group therapy twice every day. I’ve seen the social worker, and been to see Lang twice. And I still feel like – like – “ Before Emmett could react, Marty flung himself forward, and slammed his head onto the dashboard above the glove compartment.

The ‘thud’ of Marty’s head connecting with the hard plastic caused Doc’s stomach to do a sick flip. Marty reared back, posed to again hit his head, but the scientist was quicker this time. He grabbed Marty by the shoulders, pushing him back against the seat. “Marty! Stop it!”

The teen struggled briefly, then slumped, breathing heavily. His eyes were watering, and there was a red welt rising on his forehead, just underneath his bangs.

“I’m scared, Doc.”

Emmett adjusted his grip, bringing the younger man into an embrace. “I know. But you’re not in this alone.”

Emmett and Marty entered the Parry Clinic together, although Doc hung back a bit as Marty approached the reception desk. The woman had looked up as the two walked in, and the door had barely shut behind Doc before the receptionist stood, looking to an occupied chair in the waiting room. “He’s here, Dr. Lang.”

Dr. Hugh Lang rose from the chair nearest the door that led to the doctors’ offices. “Marty,” he said, smiling. “I’m glad to see you. Why don’t you come back?”

Marty paused, rattled by the psychiatrist’s sudden appearance. He looked to Doc; the older man made a shooing gesture. “I’ll be right here waiting, Marty,” he vowed.

Lang seemed to notice Emmett for the first time. He tipped his head in recognition. “Dr. Brown?”

Doc nodded, then stepped forward to greet Lang, holding out his hand. “Emmett, please.”

"All right, 'Emmett.' And I'm Hugh." Lang shook Doc’s hand. "It’s nice to meet you.” After releasing the scientist’s hand, Lang looked inquiringly at Marty. “Would you feel comfortable with him joining us later in the session?”

Marty sent a similar questioning look up at Doc. “Uh – you want to?” he asked, strangely timid.

Emmett smiled, endeared by Marty’s bashfulness. “I’d be happy to.”

Dr. Lang jerked his chin in the direction of the receptionist. “I’ll call Rebecca when I’d like you to come back, and she can direct you.” He gazed down at Marty. “Shall we?”

With a final furtive look back at Doc, Marty followed the psychiatrist through the door at the front of the waiting room.

It was a short walk down the hall to Lang’s office, but Marty took his time, lagging behind the doctor. When Lang reached his door, he noticed Marty had fallen back. The teen was glancing around the quiet hall, looking uncomfortable.

“Marty? Are you all right?”

Marty turned to Dr. Lang. “I didn’t think you’d be here on a Saturday. The place is kinda empty, isn’t it?”

Hugh nodded fractionally. “Our Saturday hours generally run from nine until noon, depending on the number of patients who need a weekend appointment. Usually Dr. Kohlman is here, but her eleven o’clock appointment cancelled, so she left for the day.” The psychiatrist regarded Marty curiously. “If you are interested in a weekend appointment, I have this time open every other Saturday.”

Marty shrugged. “I dunno. I thought we kind of agreed on the after-school appointments.”

“That’s right – I'm sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.” Lang opened his office door, and holding it open, he gestured the teen inside. “Come on in, Marty."

Marty stepped uneasily into the room. He could see that Lang had already pulled his chair out from behind his desk, setting it to face the chairs and small couch in his office. Ignoring the obvious invitation, Marty meandered over to the wall behind the seating area, and made a show of reading the doctor’s framed diplomas. “Huh. UC San Diego. Is it hard to get in there?”

Lang sat in his desk chair. “Why don’t you have a seat, Marty.”

Marty turned to look warily at the chairs and the couch. Previously he had sat in a chair when visiting Lang, but today he felt a need to stay farther away from the doctor. The teen eventually sat on the far side of the couch. Hugh edged his chair forward, moving closer to his patient. In response, Marty squished himself more into the corner of the couch, then grabbed a nearby pillow and pulled it into his lap.

Lang carefully watched the movements. “Would you like to take your jacket off?” he asked casually.

“No!” Marty cleared his throat. “I mean, no, I’m fine.”

Dr. Lang nodded. “Fine,” he said as well. He settled himself more comfortably in his chair, crossing his legs and setting clasped hands in his lap. Marty stared at him quietly; Lang looked back just as silently. The room was tensely quiet, the only sounds being the ticking of the clock the breathing of the occupants. Marty thought he could even hear his heart beating. He ran nervous fingers through his hair, unconsciously parting his bangs.

Lang leaned forward, a look of concern on his face. “What happened to your forehead?”

Marty reached up, brushing the welt he had unintentionally exposed. He winced. _Now I’ve got that, the mark on my cheek, the bruises on my throat, and my scars on my wrists. I’m like Frankenstein._

Unexpectedly, the thought tickled him, and he began to giggle. The giggles gave way to chuckling, which proceeded to cackling. He brought the pillow up and pressed it against his face, trying to stop the inappropriate laughter.

“Marty?” Hugh’s voice, mildly alarmed, had grown closer.

Marty’s cackles had turned to screeching. He was bent over on the couch, his shoulders shaking, howling into the pillow. He felt the couch cushions move and knew the psychiatrist was sitting next to him on the couch, but he wasn’t able to respond to the doctor’s presence, or to the repeated calls of his name. It wasn’t until Lang touched Marty, gripping him lightly on the forearm, that the teen reacted.

The laughter died as Marty’s throat constricted in terror. Jumping up from the couch and tossing the pillow aside, he moved to the nearest wall and pressed his back against it, holding his hands out defensively. “Don’t touch me!” he screamed.

Hugh spun around on the couch; he half-rose, then thought better of it and sat back down. “I’m not going to hurt you, Marty,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “I want to help you.”

Marty’s face was pale, making the bump on his head stand out more; Hugh could now also see that the teen’s left cheek was slightly red, and that there were faint bruises on his throat. _Those marks are all new since Wednesday,_ the psychiatrist thought. He wondered how many of the injuries were self-inflicted.

The doctor moved slowly off the couch, edging toward his patient. Marty watched anxiously, his eyes snapping left and right as if to search for a way out. But Lang was in between Marty and the only exit.

“Marty, I need you to calm down,” Lang said, as he drew closer. “You’re fine. No one here wants to hurt you.”

“No. . .” Marty slid down the wall, ending up in a sitting position with his knees bent up near his chest. He hugged his knees, crying quietly. “I’m not fine. I’ll never be fine.”

Lang was about to respond when Marty jerked his head back, and began banging the back of his head against the wall. His head smacked the wall so hard that the framed diplomas on the wall rattled; one fell from the wall to crash on the floor near Marty. The glass in the frame shattered, scattering dust-like pieces and jagged shards across the floor.

Marty’s left hand shot out to seize a large piece of glass, and he lifted it toward his face. Hugh leapt forward and grasped the teen’s wrist in both hands, forcing the arm down. “Marty! Marty, drop it!

Marty was unresponsive, focused only on tearing his arm from Lang’s grasp. He beat at the doctor with his free hand. Blood began to seep between the fingers of Marty's left hand, as the broken glass dug into his palm. Yet the teen continued to fight, seemingly unaware of the injury.

“Rebecca!” Lang shouted desperately, as he struggled against a determined Marty. _“Rebecca!”_

**_TO BE CONTINUED. . ._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(Third Chapter Notes)**
> 
> "They call him Cliff Hanger, hanging from a cliff. . . " _(Between the Lions)_


	4. Two Docs, a Teenager, and a Hard Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doc and Rebecca come to Lang's (and Marty's) assistance. Marty, lost and afraid, can't comprehend why he keeps hurting himself. Lang offers a theory and some possible solutions, but both Doc and Marty are uneasy with the choices. __
> 
> _“Marty, you didn’t tell anyone what was happening. Are you saying you think your mother or your siblings should have figured it out, and stopped it?”_
> 
> _"No, I . . . I – I don’t know,” Marty stammered. “Dave did notice, but when he told Doc and then Doc asked me, I said I was fine.”_
> 
> _“So if you said you were fine, and you didn’t ask for help. . ." Lang spread his hands out._
> 
> _“I didn’t want help! I didn’t want anyone to know!” Marty said, raising his voice. “It was hell. I was in hell, and I had to go through it alone, I chose to go through it alone.” He looked questioningly at Dr. Lang. “And I don’t get it. For three years I went through this hell, and I didn’t . . . do anything. I didn’t try anything, like hurting myself. I, I wasn’t . . .“_
> 
> _“You weren’t suicidal,” Lang finished. Marty nodded silently. “What were you going to do with the piece of glass, Marty?” Hugh asked next. “Why did you grab it?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I took so long to post this, after leaving chapter three in a cliff-hanger over two weeks ago. But this chapter took a long time (!) to get to the point that I wanted. I think this will be the last chapter of this story in the series, and the continuation will be a different story, possibly concerning Marty's first day at school.
> 
> -ck
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Back to the Future,_ Doctor Emmett L. Brown, Marty McFly, any of the McFly family members, or any other related characters (except for my original characters).
> 
> I am writing for fun and feedback, not for profit.
> 
>  _Band-Aid_ is a trademark of Johnson & Johnson.

Rebecca and Emmett made it to Lang’s office within seconds of Hugh’s louder yell. The receptionist threw open the door but then paused, staring at the scene before her with a stunned expression. Doc hurried past Rebecca and into the room; after quickly assessing the situation, he went straight to the wrestling psychiatrist and teenager.

Hugh looked away from Marty for a precious second. “He’s got a piece of broken glass. _Help_ me,” he implored the scientist.

Emmett dropped down in front of Marty, suddenly feeling a strong sense of déjà vu.

_-he slit his wrists then, he tried to **kill** himself, that is **not** going to happen-_

Doc reached past Lang toward Marty; he added his hand to Marty’s left arm, grasping it just above where Lang’s hand was seizing the teen’s wrist. Emmett then grabbed Marty’s flailing right hand, stopping the teen from repeatedly beating at the psychiatrist. Holding tight to the denim-covered arms and refusing to let Marty’s panicky behavior sway him, Doc brought his face close to Marty’s, and spoke in a commanding tone.

“Marty! Marty, _stop_ this! That’s enough! Drop it!” 

Marty jerked his arms frantically, trying to dislodge Doc’s hands. The older man held fast, and spoke again, slowly and firmly. “Marty. _Martin_. Drop. The. Glass.”

Marty had been flinging his head back and forth, his eyes trained on nothing tangible in the room. But when Doc said his name – his full name – and said it so fiercely, Marty’s gaze snapped back to the scientist. He stared into Doc’s intense brown eyes.

“. . .D-doc?”

Emmett smiled faintly. “Let go of the glass, Marty.”

Marty swallowed, took several shaky breaths, and then unclenched his left hand. The piece of glass, a jagged slice roughly four inches long, fell to the floor. Hugh released Marty’s wrist, and fell back on his haunches, sighing deeply. Doc also loosened his grip on Marty’s arm, and the teen shook his hand, working out the numbness. Blood splattered off of Marty’s fingertips, sprinkling the floor.

Marty whimpered, looking down at his blood-smeared hand. Doc took his hand off of Marty’s other arm, and dug into his pocket, pulling out the yellow bandanna he used as a handkerchief. He swiftly wrapped the bright cloth around Marty’s hand, and applied pressure. “It’s not that bad,” he said quickly, although he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure himself, or Marty.

“I’m going to need stitches again,” Marty said weakly, his panic rising.

Having finally moved closer, Rebecca was able to witness Marty’s injury just before Emmett wrapped it up. “I’ll get the first aid kit,” she said, then immediately left the room.

Hugh was trying to pick up the larger pieces of glass without cutting himself. “Move him to the couch,” he murmured quietly to Emmett, gesturing with his head. Doc, understanding how Lang wanted Marty away from the glass, put his free hand under Marty’s right elbow and helped him to rise. “Let’s go sit over here,” he said, then directed Marty to the couch.

Before the two sat, Marty leaned in Hugh’s direction. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lang,” he said, his voice still tremulous. “Did I wreck it?”

Hugh looked up, confused. “What? Wreck what?”

“Your diploma. Did it get ripped when the glass broke? I’m sorry,” Marty repeated.

Lang shook his head, exhaling softly. “Marty, I’m not worried about my diploma.”

Emmett tugged gently at Marty, turning him and easing him down on the couch. Rebecca came rushing back into the room, carrying a white case about the size of a lunch box. She grabbed Lang’s desk chair, and moved it so it was directly in front of the couch. Opening the first aid kit, she first took out a pair of disposable gloves and pulled them on, then selected a wrapped gauze bandage. “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” she said, reaching out a hand.

Breathing heavily, Marty pulled back against Doc, not wanting the man to release the secure grip he had on the injury. Emmett seemed to agree. “I don’t know if I should reduce the pressure yet,” he said.

Rebecca smiled softly. “I think it’s better to have a sterile dressing on it – if he’s still actively bleeding, I’ll put the bandage on immediately.” She was tearing the wrapper on the gauze bandage. “But I think you’re right – it’s not that bad.” She poised her hands over Marty’s injured hand. “Release the pressure before you unwrap it, so we can see how much blood is on the cloth.”

Emmett slowly extended Marty’s arm, so that his palm was within Rebecca’s reach, then just as slowly, he removed his hand so that it was not obstructing the bandanna pressed against Marty’s palm. All three peered anxiously at the yellow cloth – and all three sighed in relief at the minor amount of blood staining the fabric.

Doc next unwrapped the impromptu bandage, taking his time. When Marty’s palm was exposed, the three could see a jagged, two inch cut along what would commonly be called the “head” line. There were also small cuts on Marty's middle and ring finger. Rebecca leaned closer, inspecting the larger cut, which was lazily oozing blood. “I don’t think there’s any glass in it. But we should wash it out before I put the bandage on.” She raised her eyes to Marty’s face. “Can you make it to the bathroom, so we can run your hand under the water?”

Marty bristled at the assumption. “I think I can walk across the hall,” he muttered, rising – and then swayed on his feet. Both Rebecca and Emmett reached to balance him. Emmett caught him first, and wrapped a steadying arm around Marty’s waist. “Which way is the bathroom?” he asked the receptionist.

When Emmett and Marty returned to Dr. Lang’s office ten minutes later, Marty had Band-Aids on his two cut fingers and a gauze bandage on his injured palm (which was held in place with more gauze, wrapped around his hand). Marty was walking under his own power, but his face was pale and his eyes had shadows under them, so Doc stayed close to the young man’s side, just in case.

There was no one in the psychiatrist’s office. Marty looked around in confusion, then sighed sadly. “He left,” he said. “I don’t blame him.”

Emmett tsked softly. “Marty, I’m sure there’s a logical reason – “

“Ah, you’re back.” Hugh Lang walked into his office, carrying a broom and dustpan, which he set near the area where his diploma had fallen. He then turned to his patient. “How is your hand, Marty?”

Marty looked warily at the psychiatrist, but didn’t answer. Emmett fielded the question. “It’s a bit of an ugly cut, but not deep. Your receptionist is quite the first aid professional. She had the wound cleaned out and everything bandaged up in record time.”

Hugh smiled at the scientist. “She comes by it honestly – she has twin six-year-old boys, and they’ve gotten in a fair amount of scrapes.” He looked again at Marty. “I’d like to discuss what happened. Can you sit down, please?”

Marty again choose the couch, and he pulled Emmett down next to him. “Stay, Doc.” Emmett raised his eyebrows inquiringly at Hugh, but the psychiatrist nodded agreeably. “Definitely, Emmett, I’d like you to stay.” He sat as well, across from the two on the couch.

This time there was no lingering silence; Marty started talking, the words fairly spilling out of him. “I’m really sorry, Dr. Lang, I didn’t mean to knock your diploma down, I hope you didn’t cut yourself picking up the glass – I guess that’s why you got the broom, huh, for the little pieces?” He gestured at the broom and dustpan. “I can pay to get your diploma re-framed if you want, I know that kind of stuff is important, Doc has his diplomas and doctorate framed, he was able to save them when his house burnt down, actually I guess maybe they were already in his lab, is that right, Doc? I know if my house was burning down and I could only grab a few things, I’d probably grab my guitars, or maybe some photos, I don’t know. Some photos you can’t replace, you know, like the really old ones, and my guitars are insured, so if they did burn up – “

“Marty!” both Emmett and Lang said at the same time, and then looked at each other, nonplussed. Marty grinned at the exchange, then started to laugh. Suddenly he clapped his hands over his face, the bandaged hand pressing against his mouth. “No. . .“ he moaned, his voice muffled, and then bent at the waist, looking like he might vomit.

“Marty?” Emmett reached out to place consoling hands on the teen’s back. “What’s wrong?”

Lang had moved forward as well. “He started laughing at something earlier, and went into hysterics.” He made to place a hand on Marty’s knee but then backed off, not wanting to cause another anxiety attack. “Marty, you’re _okay_. Calm down. Emmett and I are here for you.”

Marty began breathing erratically. Alarmed by the uneven breaths, Emmett cautiously helped Marty to sit up, setting a palm on Marty’s chest. “Calm your breathing, Marty.” When the teen shook his head, taking in progressively shorter gasps of air, Emmett increased the pressure of his hand. “Marty. Listen to me.” He pushed in. “Inhale.” And after lessening the pressure, “Now exhale.” For close to five minutes, Emmett repeated the movements and words, until Marty was breathing in and out regularly on his own, slow and deep. The teen rested heavily against Doc’s body, his eyes closed, and then slumped. If Emmett hadn’t had his hand on Marty’s chest, the younger man might have slid to the floor.

Hugh blinked, leaning closer again. “What the – he fell asleep?”

Doc smiled down at the brown head nestled against him. “It appears so.”

A small voice drifted up. “’m ‘wake.” Marty opened his eyes, looking up at Doc. “But I’m exhausted.” He struggled to sit up, using his hands to push himself away from Emmett’s body. His bandaged palm pressed against Doc’s arm, and Marty hissed in pain. The sudden rush of discomfort was all he needed to wake himself up completely, and soon he was sitting upright, blinking tiredly at Lang. “I can’t sleep,” he said flatly. “I thought it was my room that was doing it, that I couldn’t sleep in my bed because I was freaked out from having cut my wrists in my room. But I’m not sleeping any better in Dave’s bed. I keep having these nightmares, about my dad assaulting me . . . he did it so many times in the house I lost count.” Marty sighed, briefly closing his eyes. “I've had nightmares about him before, but not this bad - now it's like every night. About the only time I can sleep is if Doc comes over.” The teen looked to Emmett again. “I feel safer when you’re there.”

Emmett shook his head. “God knows why,” he said regretfully. “George attacked you at my place, too.”

“Yeah, but you _stopped_ him,” Marty said. “That was more than my mom or Dave or Linda ever did.”

Lang weighed in. “Marty, you didn’t tell anyone what was happening. Are you saying you think your mother or your siblings should have figured it out, and stopped it?”

“No, I. . . Well, I – I don’t know,” Marty stammered. He sighed again, this time in frustration. “I guess Dave did notice, but he didn’t know what was going on. And when he told Doc and then Doc asked me about it, I said I was fine.”

“So if you said you were fine, and you didn’t ask for help. . ." Lang spread his hands out.

“I didn’t want help! I didn’t want anyone to know!” Marty said, raising his voice. “It was hell. I was in hell, and I had to go through it alone, I _chose_ to go through it alone.” He looked questioningly at Dr. Lang. “And I don’t get it. For three years I went through this hell, and I didn’t . . . do anything. I didn’t try anything, like hurting myself. I, I wasn’t . . .“

“You weren’t suicidal,” Lang finished. Marty nodded silently. “What were you going to do with the piece of glass, Marty?” Hugh asked next. “Why did you grab it?”

Marty’s only response was a long exhale. He cut his eyes to the side, avoiding looking at either man.

“I said I wanted to discuss it,” Dr. Lang pressed. “What were your plans?”

“Plans?” Marty echoed. “I don’t think I was thinking that way. It was impulse. Like when I cut my wrists. I wasn’t planning on that. I was in my room, kind of losing it, and I saw the scissors. It just . . . happened.”

Hugh stared at the teen, his gaze unwavering. “If I hadn’t called for help, if Emmett hadn’t come in and stopped you, what do you think would have ‘happened’? What was your impulse driving you to do?”

Marty looked at the psychiatrist in silence for a few tense moments. He next glanced at Doc, giving the man an apologetic smile. Then he directed his gaze back to Lang.

“Uh . . . maybe. . .” He took a deep breath, then said rapidly, “To cut my throat.”

“You were going to attempt suicide again,” Lang clarified.

“Yeah.” Marty tried for a defiant response, but the one-word affirmation came out as more of a croak – and then he started to cry quietly. He rubbed the tears from his eyes, sniffling. Emmett reached in his pocket for his bandanna before remembering that it had been tossed in the garbage in the bathroom.

Lang stood up and went to his desk, then brought a tissue box back to Marty. The teen pulled several tissues out of the box, and used them to swipe at his nose. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“What are you apologizing for?” Lang asked, from where he had reseated himself in his chair. “Do you think you don’t deserve to be upset by this, by all of this? Your father’s abuse, your family’s reaction, your own struggle to cope?"

“No, that’s – that’s not what I meant,” Marty answered. “I’m sorry I’m doing this, for scaring everybody. You, my family, Doc. . .” He turned to Doc. “I did it to you twice – maybe more.”

Emmett nodded. “If we’re being honest, I’ve been scared for you several times. When you first came to me after you fought off your father, when he attacked you at my garage, when we found you bleeding in your room. . .“ He ran a hand down Marty’s face, wiping off a few tears. The action was gentle and intimate, but neither Doc nor Marty considered how it might be viewed. Until Lang cleared his throat, and then the scientist and the teenager broke apart as if they’d been burned by one another. Marty moved away from Doc, leaving a wide space between them on the couch.

Lang watched the two curiously, wondering at the sudden separation, then decided that was not as important an issue as Marty’s mental health. He addressed the teen. “You’re sorry for scaring us, for scaring your family. What about yourself? Are you scared?”

A few fresh tears spilled from Marty’s eyes. “I’m terrified. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this. I’m supposed to go back to school Monday, my mom and I went to talk to the principals yesterday, but I don’t know how I can. I can’t sleep or eat, I throw up if I do eat. . .” He choked back a sob. “And I just don’t _get_ it!” he repeated. “Why now? Why am I so screwed up now? I’m not keeping it a secret anymore – my mom knows, Doc knows, my brother and sister know.” He threw his right hand out, waving it desperately. “And most of my family has been really supportive, especially my mom. She’s been great. She’s had to put up with a lot from me. I forget how hard this has got to be on her, knowing what this guy she thought she knew, and loved, had done to me. If I felt alone before I told people, she’s got to feel even more alone, trying to take care of me on her own. It was only a matter of time before things got too heavy for her. So she hit me. She’s not perfect.”

“Wait, wait,” Lang said, lifting his hands in a “time out” gesture. “Marty, what are you saying? Your mother hit you?”

“Uh, yeah.” Marty turned his head so the left side was facing Dr. Lang, and he gestured at his cheek. “Slapped me, actually." 

Hugh studied the faint red welt on the teen's cheek. _Well, that's where **that** injury came from, _the psychiatrist mused, _although it still doesn't explain the bruise on his forehead . . . or the ones on his throat._ "Why did she slap you?" he said aloud.

Marty appeared slightly uncomfortable; he looked up at Emmett, then spoke in a halting tone. "Uh, we, uh, we got in an argument, about my – my boyfriend. I told you Wednesday, how I recently broke up with my girlfriend ‘cause there was a guy I liked, that I’d been seeing him for a couple months, kinda behind her back?” Marty glanced quickly at Doc again before continuing. “My mom didn't know about me seeing him, she thought me and him were just friends, but when I was in Bedford, my boyfriend came to my mom and told her the truth about us. She acted like she was okay with it, but she said I'm not allowed to be alone with him, cause he’s older than me - she’s worried that we’ll both get in trouble if someone finds us together and figures out we’re, uh, intimate. And I told her instead of worrying about me and my boyfriend, she should have been worried about what my dad had been doing to me. And she hit me.”

Hugh let out a slow breath. “When did this happen?”

“Maybe about ten minutes before I had Marty call you,” Emmett said. “The argument happened at my place. David – Marty’s brother – and I had arranged it so that Marty and his boyfriend could meet there, in private. Only Lorraine came looking for David, and she walked in on Marty and his boyfriend in a compromising position. She was very angry, with all of us, but Marty took the brunt of her anger.” Emmett reached out tentatively toward Marty, gripping his shoulder lightly. “I need to apologize to you. I made a poor decision, agreeing to David’s idea. I should have respected your mother’s wishes. I’m sorry for what happened.”

“But I’m not!” Marty protested. “My mom knew what was going on with me and – and him. That we were physically involved. She just didn’t want to face it, I guess, until she didn’t have a choice. She still wants me with Jennifer. . . I think it’s good she walked in on us – you know, my boyfriend and me. Okay, maybe she and I didn’t handle it great – “

“She _hit_ you, Marty. And it upset you so much you – you wanted to hurt yourself. You _did_ hurt yourself – more than once!” Emmett took Marty’s bandaged left hand, holding it tenderly. “Don’t be so quick to forgive her.”

“I’m not – but I think you were too quick to condemn her,” Marty said.

“I did that because of your reaction! And my God, Marty, she hit you so hard you fell!”

“He _fell?”_ Lang inquired, wondering if the fall had something to do with the bruise on the teen's forehead.

Marty pulled his hand away from Doc's, then turned to Lang. “She just surprised me, is all," he said. "She's never hit me before - not even when I set our living room rug on fire." In Marty's original timeline (when his parents hadn't "gone easy" on the eight-year-old), they had yelled at him and grounded him and suspended his meager allowance, but he still hadn't been hit, not even spanked. "But I was thinking about it," the teen said slowly, "and it wasn't that big a deal. . . You know?"

Emmett, dismayed by Marty’s response, stared at the young man in confusion. “Marty, where is this coming from? Your reaction to your mother striking you is why we’re here. And now you’re defending her? Why?”

“Because she’s all I’ve got left!” Marty burst out. “What if my other relatives don’t. . .“ He shook his head, not wanting to speak his fears aloud. “You know how Linda went to my Uncle Milton’s, the second time I went to the ER, because she was afraid of me?”

“That’s not why she went there, Marty,” Doc disagreed. Marty made a "hmmph" noise, but the older man was undeterred. “I’m not surprised you don’t know the truth – I suppose if Linda told you why she left, it would negate the reason why she did.” The scientist suddenly seemed to remember that he and Marty weren’t alone in the room. He looked to Dr. Lang, and shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry – we seem to have overtaken your session.”

Hugh shook his head, and waved off the apology. “No, no, this is fine. I asked you to join us especially for this reason. Please, continue. Why did Marty’s sister leave?”

Before Doc could continue, Marty flopped back on the couch, crossing his arms. “Don’t know why my mom’s paying for this if I’m just gonna talk to you,” he grumbled in Doc’s general direction.

Emmett raised his eyebrows, grunting softly. “Do you want me to leave, Marty?” he asked quietly.

The teen took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “No,” he said on the exhale. Opening his eyes, he looked in chagrin at the scientist, and then at the psychiatrist. “Sorry, Doc, Dr. Lang.”

Both men sent nearly identical accepting smiles at Marty. “Go on, Emmett,” Lang again prompted.

“Ah, yes. Linda had been overwhelmed by Marty’s . . . struggles. His suicide attempt, which she discovered, and then his flashback and his reaction to the Valium – you’re aware of all that?” When Hugh nodded, Emmett went on. “Adding that to the fact that the underlying reason for Marty’s suffering was the abuse from his father, whom Linda had beforehand trusted without fail. She understood that her resulting distress had the possibility of drawing Lorraine’s attention away from you, Marty, and she didn’t want that – she didn’t feel her problems held a candle to yours, and she didn’t want to advertise them, especially to you. So she left, believing it would be easier for your mother to focus on you if she wasn’t also worrying about her daughter.”

Marty stared at the floor, not responding. Eventually he scoffed, smiling faintly. “What a dope,” he murmured. “She deserves Mom as much as I do.” Then his face darkened. “You know, she came back early. She was going to stay at my uncle’s until after her Friday morning classes, and only come home then because the social worker was coming, but she actually came home late Thursday afternoon. She gave a lot of reasons why – she said Milton’s dog was bugging her allergies, and that she wanted to hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters. But that’s not why she came home.” He swallowed, still regarding the floor. “I was trying to nap on the couch, but I wasn’t really asleep, and I heard her talking to my mom.” Marty looked up, and his expression was one of deep sadness. “She told my mom that Milton didn’t believe what happened. That my dad had sexually abused me. She said she heard him tell my aunt that I was just screwed up, that I made it all up to fish for sympathy, that I’d probably cut my wrists because Jennifer broke up with me, and that my ‘Valium allergy’ was really some sort of reaction to some science experiment mistake we made in your lab.” He glanced at Doc, smiling grimly.

Emmett was staring back in disbelief. “But your mother told Milton! He came to stay at your house after she had thrown George out, so she wasn’t alone in the case that your father might return before David came home.”

Marty nodded. “Yeah. But she told him what _I_ had told her, and if he thought I was lying. . . I guess he thought I had her snowed. Well, Linda told him off. She said that if he had been there when I told everybody what had happened, or if he'd seen me cutting my wrists, he would know I wasn’t making it up. And then she left. She wouldn’t even let them drive her home. She walked.”

Hugh was smiling gently. “It sounds like your sister is definitely in your corner.”

“Yeah,” Marty said again. He studied the psychiatrist ruminatively. “My sister, sure, and my brother, and my mom – it’s hard on them, but they’re trying their best. But my other relatives. . . Milton’s only one of them. My mom’s got four other siblings, and her mother – and then there’s my dad’s parents! What are they going to believe? That their only son, their precious Georgie, sexually abused me?” He was starting to breathe harder. “Plus there’s the people in the office at school. They know I cut my wrists, but they don’t know why. And the kids at school, my friends – they’ve gotta know I was taken away in an ambulance, _twice_ , and that I was in a hospital, but what do I do when they see my scars? When they ask me why I did it?" He crossed his arms around his abdomen, moaning. “It makes my stomach _hurt_ , just thinking about it.” He looked at Lang with a lost expression. “Is that’s why I’m feeling this way, wanting to hurt myself, because I’m scared of what could happen? Because I don’t want to face it?”

Lang leaned back in his chair, threading his hands together and bringing them up to his face, to tap at his mouth with his index fingers. “I don’t think that’s quite it, Marty,” he said at length.

Marty looked back with wide, pleading eyes. “Then what is it, Dr. Lang?”

Lang lowered his hands, then leaned forward. “I have a theory. Granted, I’ve only seen you twice before today, but I do have Dr. Vincent’s notes, as well as the notes from the hospital psychologist who saw you in the ER after your suicide attempt.” He paused, then surged ahead. “When your father first assaulted you, you were young, vulnerable, and confused. You weren’t able to fight back, maybe even thought you weren’t supposed to – he was your father, after all – “

“I tried to fight back!” Marty said defensively. “But I was drunk, and sick, and if you think I’m small now, you should’ve seen me when I was fourteen.”

“Yes, yes,” Hugh said, “I’m sorry, Marty, I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t want to fight back. But because of that first time being – ‘successful’ for your father, he was able to manipulate you, and demand or force you into another tryst, and another, until it became a routine of sorts. Secret and abusive and wrong, but a routine nonetheless. And am I right in remembering that you said he made it seem like you were to blame, like you were abnormal, and so it was your fault?”

Marty nodded woodenly. “He said I liked it the first time. I barely remembered it, other than it hurting, but – but I thought maybe he was right. It sounded crazy and unbelievable, but – you’re right, he was my dad. Why would my dad lie to me? Why would he _do_ that to me unless I liked it? And why would I like it unless I was a freak?”

Doc reached over to grasp Marty’s shoulder firmly. “Marty, we talked about this, your reactions didn’t have anything to do with pleasure – “

“Emmett, please.” Hugh held up a hand, silencing the scientist. He turned back to Marty. “Your father also told you that you couldn’t tell anyone, that it would be tragic for your family, and that your community, your friends, would know you were a deviant who was attracted sexually to his father. And because he had led you to believe it was your fault, of course it would not come out that your father had assaulted you, but that you had seduced him. Correct?”

Marty gave a nearly imperceptible nod. His face was pale, and he was trembling slightly. Emmett watched the teen’s reactions with dismay; he wanted to gather Marty in his arms and stroke his hair and rub his back. He wanted to tell Hugh Lang to shut his damn mouth and stop upsetting his young lover. He wanted to find George McFly and run a hot poker into his eyes, and take a boning knife and slice off his –

“But then you met your girlfriend, and later your boyfriend, and you realized that there was more to you than just being a sexual toy for your father. You began to understand your own sexual identity. I think your father may have become worried then, that maybe he put more demands on you, or ‘rewarded’ you more when you pleased him. And for whatever reason, you might not even know why, you found the strength to fight him off, and then you found the courage to tell your friend and your family what had happened.”

Marty looked sidelong at Doc. They both knew Marty’s reason for fighting George off had been a suspension of his memories because of time travel, or a memory ripple that had taken time to reach Marty after they’d returned from 2015. In that brief window of time, Marty had had no recollections of George’s manipulations and threats, and so he’d refused to satisfy his aroused father, instead escaping from George and then running to Doc’s. Of course, there would be no sharing of that information with the psychiatrist.

“Fine, you’ve been listening,” Marty said now to Lang. The teen’s voice cracked with emotion. “It still doesn’t tell me anything!”

Dr. Lang held up a finger. “I’m getting to it. All right, when your father was abusing you, you didn’t want anyone to know. He told you that if you did, the world would basically end. It was a terrible amount of responsibility, and so you kept the confusion and the terror and the pain to yourself. You never dealt with it. You couldn’t – if you let anything out, if anyone figured it out. . .“ Lang spread his hands. “Your life would be over. So for three years you didn’t deal with your anguish. And then, two weeks ago, you admitted what was happening, what had happened. You told. And all of those bottled up feelings, all of that trauma that you’d kept inside, came rushing out. It overwhelmed you. You didn’t know how to handle it. All you knew was that you were in pain, and you wanted it to stop. You didn’t have anyone to help you cope, like myself or Dr. Vincent. Your family and Emmett couldn’t understand. Yes, they said they were there for you, but how long would that last?”

Doc broke in. “I take offense to that, Dr. Lang.”

Hugh smiled thinly at Doc. “I’m not casting aspersions on you. I’m speaking to Marty’s state of mind.”

Marty turned a watery gaze on Doc. “He’s right, Doc. I thought you guys would support me, or feel bad for me, until I became too much of a problem. That when it got out what had happened, Dave and Linda, and maybe even my mom, wouldn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Because it would be a big scandal, and their nice, contented lives would change.”

“Do you still feel that way?” Emmett asked, mystified.

Marty shrugged, smiling sadly, and Doc gasped. “Great Scott,” he whispered. “No wonder you – “ He looked to Lang. “I think you hit the nail on the head.”

“Great,” Marty muttered. “Perfect. I know why I feel this way. How do I fix it? Because this – “ he waved a hand between himself and Lang “ – isn’t helping! If it was I wouldn’t have grabbed that glass and tried to slice myself!”

Lang looked calmly at his patient. “We need to get a handle on your anxiety. I think it’s time to talk about medication.”

Marty sighed. “Great,” he said again. “And I bet you have one all picked out, don’t you?”

“Well. . .“ Rising, Lang went back to his desk, and picked up a file folder. Bringing it back, he sat in his chair, and started to page through the papers inside. “I have been researching a few options. I know I said you should stay away from benzodiazepines, based on your reaction to the Valium. That means we could try a tricyclic antidepressant medication, but I’m reluctant to prescribe one of those, as one of the side effects could be an increase in suicidal tendencies.”

“No, I don’t think that would be a good choice,” Doc said with an irritated frown.

Hugh nodded in agreement. “Tricyclic drugs, like Doxepin or Amitriptyline, also can take a long time to reach full therapeutic improvement, sometimes as long as six to eight weeks.”

"You mean if I take one of those trici- tricylic drugs, I could feel even worse, and it could be like _two months_ before I feel any better?" Marty asked in disbelief. He then scoffed angrily. "It's no wonder I don’t trust drugs. Why would you even suggest something like that?" he demanded, glaring at Dr. Lang.

"I understand your discomfort with tricyclic drugs, Marty," Hugh said. "The main reason I mention them is because they are helpful in treating PTSD."

Marty looked blankly at the psychiatrist, glanced at Doc, and then turned back to Lang. "PTSD," he repeated. “What’s that again?”

“It’s a somewhat new term, only being in use for maybe five years, although it's not a new diagnosis,” Hugh answered. “Post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, was previously referred to as shell shock, or soldier fatigue. It was primarily a diagnosis for soldiers that had been in battle, men who had seen or participated in horrendous, terrible things. After such a painful event, they would frequently experience intense and disturbing thoughts and feelings, even when they had returned home from war. Other individuals who would have similar experiences would be firemen, or police, or ambulance personnel – people exposed to extreme situations that often included casualties.”

Marty blew out a short exhale, then looked away, as if in embarrassment. “Why would that apply to me? I’m not a soldier, or anything like that. I’m just a kid.”

Lang smiled gently. “A kid who was abused, traumatized, repeatedly. A kid who can’t eat without getting ill, or sleep without having nightmares. A kid who has flashbacks – “

“One flashback,” Marty muttered. Emmett rubbed the teen’s arm lightly, and Marty looked up, giving the scientist a wan smile.

“Possibly,” Lang hedged. “Although when I touched you when you were upset, you became excessively agitated, and reacted as if I was someone you were afraid of, or threatened by. Possibly flashing back to your father’s molestation.” Lang watched as Marty drew in on himself, crossing his arms and ducking his head. “Was that the case?” the psychiatrist persisted. "According to Dr. Vincent's notes, you had a similar 'flashback' in group therapy."

Marty uncrossed his arms, dropping them to his sides with a huff of exasperation. “Perfect. So I have anxiety, depression, and PTSD. A fucking hat trick.”

Doc rubbed Marty’s arm again, this time drawing his hand down to grasp Marty's smaller one. “Marty. . .”

Marty gazed down at their joined hands. “I still don’t want to take a drug that will make me feel worse, or might take over a month to make me feel normal again.”

Emmett looked seriously at Lang. “Tricyclics can’t be the only choice.”

Hugh turned back to the folder in his hands. “MAOIs are another option, and they also help with PTSD, but they have drawbacks similar to tricyclics. Then there is trazodone, which Dr. Vincent suggested.” He paused, studying Marty. “Whatever medication we choose will be started at the lowest dose, and increased only if necessary.”

“You mean whatever medication my mom and you and I agree on,” Marty reminded the psychiatrist. “And what if I can’t tolerate it, or any kind of drug? What if I have an allergy to psych– psycho– “ He looked up to Doc for help.

“Psychotropic,” Emmett said softly. “That means anything that alters your brain chemistry or nervous system.” 

“A hypersensitivity to an entire drug category is uncommon,” Lang said, “but if you are that concerned about a negative reaction to a prescribed medication, or about a particular drug’s side effects, there are other options.” He closed the file folder and held it in his lap. “There is an over-the-counter medicine, more of an herbal supplement, called St. John’s Wort, which can help with anxiety and depression.” When Marty still appeared uneasy, Lang continued. “You could increase your sessions with me – you could even call me on the phone, if you don't want to make multiple trips to my office. There’s also meditation, hypnosis – “

Emmett made a rude sound. Hugh gave the scientist a curious look. “Am I to guess from that noise that you don’t believe in hypnosis?”

“If ‘don’t believe in’ you mean ‘think it’s a total crock,’ then you’d be right,” Doc responded dryly.

Marty jerked his hand out of Doc's grasp. "I don't care! I'll try anything! I can't do this anymore!" His voice was thick with desperation. "Feeling like this, not being able to trust myself, not knowing when I might crack - " His hands began to tremble, and he shoved them into his armpits. "I can't do this," he repeated in a whisper. 

Almost without a conscious decision, Emmett moved from beside Marty to in front of him. Kneeling before him, Doc reached for Marty's arms, gently pulling them away from the younger's man's body. Taking both Marty's right hand and injured left hand into his own, Emmett gazed up at the teen with undisguised affection. 

"If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything," he said assuredly. 

_**END (of this part of the series)** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(Fourth Chapter Notes)**
> 
> The title of this chapter is a reference to the old (twenty years ago) sit-com "Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pizza Place," which starred a young Ryan Reynolds.

**Author's Note:**

>  **(First Chapter Notes)**
> 
> Yup, another cliffhanger!
> 
> After months off work, I have a new job, and will be starting in a few days. That means my writing time will greatly diminish. I do plan to write additional chapters/more series fics related to this, but it will take me longer than usual.


End file.
